


The Signal

by WhimsicalMayhem



Category: Battleborn (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, inspiratonal, lore-centeric, pre-Battleborn, probably should read with some really good hype music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7378000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalMayhem/pseuds/WhimsicalMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"To all free people of Solus – this is Reyna Valeria, and this signal's for the lost."</p>
<p>"The tired."</p>
<p>"The pissed."</p>
<p>Or how the Rogues of Battleborn first heard of the Rogues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Signal

**Author's Note:**

> After unlocking Reyna's lore challenge 'The Signal' this came out. I love it. I love Reyna. I love Reyna's lore and I've fallen head over heels for the Rogues (I don't even play them as much as I do the Jennerits, they are just so interesting to write about.)
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

There is a time in everyone's lives that something happens and they can remember exactly where they were and what they were doing. They can recall it perfectly - because it was momentous.It was important. It was a point in their sentience, whether good or bad, that affected them so profoundly that they can pinpoint it perfectly on the timeline of their lives.

Reyna was about to create one of those moments for a lot of people, and she knew it. She took a deep breath before she clicked the mic on, leaning in close, her lips nearly touching the apparatus. 

“To all the free people of Solus - this is Reyna Valeria, and this signal’s for the lost.”

Shayne looks up from her current housing; a shallow outcropping outside of a refugee camp. She perked up when the voice over the small radio said something other than bad new.

“The tired.”

Whiskey Foxtrot pauses while chopping some carrots. The transmission echoes through the dingy kitchen. It was the third one he’d been to this month; the Mikes were always hot on his trail.

“The pissed.”

Toby lifts his helmet from his head. Hes curled up in Berg. The UPR had rejected him - again - and he hadn’t really felt up to anything more than chilling with his death machine and listening to sad music.

“You've been pushed around your whole life by people who say they know what's best for you. For all of us. And while the Varelsi sweep through system after system, you're still doing what they say. Playing by their rules, following their mandates, executing their plans. And now you're in Solus. And you're thinking, maybe this isn't working. Maybe I'm tired of taking orders from idiots who have no friggin' clue what they're doing. Maybe there's some other way.”

“I'm here to tell you: there is.”

Orendi stops fiddling with the radio. She was going to take it apart and see what she could do with the pieces (after all, the laser turrets worked out well. What about a little music to go with it?) but pauses. The voice over the radio doesn’t sound like the usual people, and that causes her to listen a little longer.

“Join us in the Detritus Ring. We got ships. We got resources. We got guns – lots and lots of guns. We even have beer! We make it ourselves, and it's awful, but it does the trick. What we don't got is a flag. Or commanders, or warlords, or laws, or precepts. We fight for ourselves. We fight for each other. All the joys of living on the edge of extinction, minus all the bullcrap.”

Whiskey smiles - actually smiles - at the description. Yeah. Yeah, that was something he could get behind. No command or rank. No being just another genetically engineered body bag. And it had been a long time since he had beer, good or bad. Not since he first started cooking, and that had to be, what, a year ago now? Maybe two? Too long, now that he thinks about it.

Toby lifts himself up to look incredulously at Berg’s transmitter. That sounded...awesome! Better than the UPR, at least. Maybe a place that would accept him for the killing machine that he could be. And they had guns! And resources - resources that he could utilize to keep Berg in tip top shape.Yet still he couldn’t give himself completely to the lady on the radio. There had to be a catch somewhere. There always was.

Shayne stills. All the joys of living on the edge of extinction without the bullcrap? She looked over to the refugee camp about ten yards away from her little hidey hole. It had to be better than this right? Alone and scared and...lost. She always did think that the end of the world would be at least more exciting than this. 

But who would come here, to this backwater desolate planet? And even if she wanted to, she couldn’t reach this ‘Reyna’ person. They didn’t have any ships that came by except to drop off supplies, and all Shayne had to her name was this old one way radio.

It may have been better for her to have just shut off the radio before her hope for a better future was ripped from her by her reality. She was destined to die in the dark, just like everyone else.

Reyna gets to the nitty gritty.

“Yeah, we're probably gonna die. Can't save you from that. But if you die with us, you'll die free. On your own terms, and for your own cause. And if you're fed the hell up as we are, I bet that sounds pretty damn good right now!”

All Orendi ever wanted to be was free. She smiles manically, holding the radio close to her chest, from which a laugh bursts forth.

She would find this Reyna Valeria and see if she promised all that she did.

And if she didn’t, well it wouldn’t be the first, nor last, that Orendi would feed to her hat.

“Fly with us! Join the Rogues!”

Whiskey laughs. The civilians around him startle, because its sudden and boisterous. He usually likes to keep a low profile, but fuck that right now. Right now he feels good. Right now he's got goose bumps and his hands are shaking because that woman - Reyna, he corrects himself. - has just offered him everything he's been trying to find in his life since he left the Mikes.

“Hey! There he is!”

“WF02-1221! Put down the knife and get on the ground!”

Suddenly there were red dots everywhere and people were running and screaming. He ducks behind a counter as the red dots attempt to converge on his position.

He was tired. So tired of running. His whole life was running and never stopping. He was so tired that, on any other day, he might have actually done what they asked. Dropped his knife and got down on the ground. Rested for a bit, before they killed him for his crimes.

But today was the day Whiskey Foxtrot heard Reyna Valeria’s signal; a sign that there was something else in this world worth fighting for other than just running and hiding. From the Mikes. From the Varelsi. A sign that maybe he could run just a little bit longer.

So he pockets the knife, and wrenches open the cupboard where he stores his gun (for emergencies only. And that one drink recipe that requires gunpowder. But mostly emergencies) and unloads a round into the ceiling of the kitchen.

A cacophony arises, but Whiskey makes his voice rise above.

“You’ll never take me alive!”

And thus he firefights again. And it won’t be the last.

 

Toby struggles up from his prone position, running his fins over Berg’s keyboard in a panic.

“Gotta trace it! Gotta trace the signal, come on! Come ON!” He slaps the control panel in frustration. There are a few moments of silence where he thinks he lost it - was too late to track the signal and get a word in edgewise.

There's a beep and he's proved wrong.

“How the hell did you get this line?” Her voice was stern, but not angry. Reyna did just send out an intergalactic signal, after all.

“I-un, I traced it using my super high tech death mech. Uh. I mean.” He was sweating nervously. “Were you for real? A-about what you said? About the Rogues?”

He can hear the smile in her voice. “Would I have sent the message if I wasn’t real about it?”

No, Toby supposed not. But he had to be sure.

“S-so what's the catch?”

“You may have to kill some stuff, but even if that's not your cup of beer, we have other ways of putting you to work.”

“That's it?”

“What the matter bud, don’t like spilling blood?”

Toby could have kissed her, had he had the desire for bodily contact.

“Just one more question. Ms. Valeria.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you accept penguins who also just happen to have a death machine that they built with their owns fins?”

There was a pause.

“I look forward to meeting you in person...”

“Toby.” Toby added.

“I look forward to meeting you in person Toby. I’m sure we’re gonna be real good friends. The names-”

“Reyna. Trust me, I w-won’t forget it.”

 

Shayne tunnels deeper into her blanket. It was rough and scratchy and not providing as much warmth as she would like. At least she had a blanket, though. That was more than most people could ask for. 

She wonder if the Rogues had shortages like the UPR did. 

Shayne promptly shut that thought down, grinding her teeth and reminding herself just not to think about it. It probably wasn’t all that cool anyways.

...But if it was that cool, as cool as she thought it was, it wouldn’t come here anyways so it didn’t even matter.

Still, looking up at the endless abyss of space, she thought it might be nice if they did.

 

Orendi eats the radio and asks it (politely, of course. Technology only works if you treat it with respect.) to show her the way. It does and she ends up slinking around the outside of the enormous docking bay of the Bizymandias, an LLC trade ship.

And she gets the most wonderful, awful idea on how to get the Rogues’ attention.

 

Reyna leans back in her seat, letting out a huge breath. The microphone is off, but she is still here, waiting in the silence. She doesn’t know what for entirely. She knew that things wouldn’t blow up right away when she sent the signal, but Reyna feels like she's waiting for something. A response of some type.

She gets one, but not the one she's expecting.

One of her mercenaries comes in with a communicator. Reyna raises an eyebrow at him.

“He says his name is Ghalt.”

She smirks. Yeah, she remembers him all right.

“Well, what's he want with me? Except maybe a round two.”

The mercenary grimaces at her joke.

“He says he wants to save the star.”

She stops. Just...stops. She stops moving. She stops breathing. She stops thinking. Even her heart skips a beat in her chest.

“What.”

“Maybe you should speak to him?”

Reyna snatches the communicator away.

“Ghalt! Babe, how are you!”

She promised she couldn’t stop them from dying. And she can’t.

But be damned if she isn’t going to try and save as many as she can.

Little did she know that Ghalt had a signal of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Waiiiit...
> 
> yup, i am still trash


End file.
